Today I popped off on my bicycleta to see the Jardin Majorelle, a “must see” in Marrakech.

Apparently all the tourists heard the same thing.

The Jardin was begun in 1924 by a French furniture maker who came to Morocco to paint. Yves St Laurent purchased and restored the garden and opened it to the public. The blue color is the gardens signature.

The pots are bright.

There is a small but well done Berber museum which does not allow you to take photographs inside. But here is the outside.

There are a lot of cactussss.

That should be cactiiii.

The blue is alluring and mysterious.

Shadows and blue.

Blue fountain.

Everything looks great against this blue.

Almost everything!

OK, I’ve done the tourist thing and I have a routine worked out here. Time to move on. I’ll start for Essaouira, a world heritage costal town tomorrow. I think my rim will make it.

Today I set off to do the tourist itinerary.

We’ll start with the Koutoubia Minaret. It’s about 70m high and a great navigational landmark. It was completed around 1185.

I think the cats hanging out in the Koutoubia mosque are equally interesting.

Next we’ll walk through the Medina.

Donkey patience.

If you want it, here it is, come and get it. But you better hurry cause it’s going fast.

Medina road signs.

A pleasant place.

The Marrakech Museum is housed in the Ben Youssef Palace which dates from the late 19th century.

Ben Youseff Palce. There is a large open center courtyard surrounded by the rooms. There is even a private hammas (bath house).

Ben Youssef Palace. I like it, but it’s not quite ornate enough.

I hear earth tones are coming back.

Big brass light fixture.

Modern art in the Ben Youssef Palace Museum.

Bat wings.

Ben Youssef Palace

This is the inside of the Almoravid koubba. It is the only remaining Almoravid building in Morocco. The Almoravid’s were Berbers who formed a dynasty in the 1100′s. It was only excavated in 1952, and was probably just an ablutions annex to the Ben Youssef Mosque.

It had running water from 60km away up in the Atlas and this was the cistern.

Next we’ll look at the Ben Youssef Medersa, a Koranic school established in 1331 but rebuilt in the 1560s, under the Saadians. Plain on the outside, it is highly ornate on the inside.

Ben Youssef Medersa

Door into courtyard.

Over 800 students were housed here, and taught the Koran by rote. The tea would have been necessary, at least for me!

View into the courtyard.

I return to my room and take a nap to prepare myself for a big evening out in the Djemaa el Fna. It is almost better to sleep during the day, as nights are an echo chamber of nose blowing, coughing, peeing, cats and prayer yowling, and inconsiderately loud conversation and arguing.

No one knows how the Djemaa el Fna got it’s name. It translates to “assembly of the dead.” It is just a big square that fills up and empties out. It is used for demonstrations, and so was closed and made into a car park, but tourism fell off sharply, so..

Orange juice and life at 50 cents an unwashed glass.

At night the food venders get cooking.

The snail vendors report business is sluggish.

Everything seems to happen in a blur.

At night it fills up and steam from the food stalls ignites appetites.

My dinner, cost $4.50.

This looked intriguing, so I thought I’d give it a taste. It turns out to be a sweet hot ginger tea served with a couple samples of nutty chocolate peanut butter balls. 60 cents. I feel a new addiction coming on.

I really pull a late nighter and manage to stay out till 8:15. (umm, no, that’s PM, not AM) Ok, so I’m not a night owl. After awhile of looking at monkeys doing somersaults, dead and living and wooden snakes, children’s toys demonstrated by grown men, hillbilly musicians, and cigarettes sold individually, I decide I’d rather go read a good book. It’s very entertaining to some, but then I’ve got Charles Dickens and Richard Dawkins. That’s just me. (sigh)

Tomorrow I’ll explore the new part of Marrakech and the Yves St Laurent owned Jardin Majorelle.

I am going to rest and eat and study today. I compiled this simple video this morning. Enjoy!

Here’s a larger size if you have the bandwith.

I have never seen a rim split like this before. Will it fail catastrophically causing my tire to blow out as I am descending?

Will I be warm enough? It is below freezing now. Can I make it 95km to Marrakech tomorrow? What if there’s a strong headwind? Should I take a bus? I toss and turn, waking late in the day at 8:30AM. They say a coward dies a thousand deaths, a brave man only once. After dying a thousand deaths, I resolve to be brave.

I dress in almost everything I have, pack and go out. An omelet is prepared for me. Tangine’s are cooking. Life is normal in Tizi n’Tichka.

It is actually sunny and in the low 50′s Fahrenheit. I reduce the air pressure by half in my back tire and begin the descent. Within an hour I take off all the extra clothes, even my socks, and am cycling now in a shirt, pants and sandals. I check the rim crack frequently, and it appears to be the same size. I feel strong. My confidence grows.

Mountainside village.

Cute home.

The best house. Many rooms and right next to the pink Mosque. Location, location!

The descent follows a river valley. It is a beautiful day and I am enjoying the ride immensely.

Leaving the snow behind.

With the great vistas and temps in the 60′s it is perfect.

I stop and take a picture every couple of kilometers!

Villages and agriculture occupy every ledge.

Until finally I am in the plane below the mountains.

I scoot the last 35 km into Marrakech. How do I find my hotel without a map in that maze of a city? I have the name and address written on a piece of paper. I ask 20 times, and eventually get there. However, do not expect me to ever ask for directions when I return to the States. Nope, this is a special exception to my manliness.

Marrakech is very busy, my hotel is reasonable at 80Dh a night. ($10) I am going to like it here. Food is everywhere and well priced, lots of interesting people, and so so much going on! Tomorrow we’ll see why Marrakech is so wonderful!

I’ve been worried about today ever since I decided to head to Marrakech, because it meant climbing the Atlas mountains again. I was worried because 1, it’s cold; 2, there’s not a lot of hotels; 3, it is physically challenging. Leslie even offered to pay for my bus fare over the mountains as a Valentines day present!

It’s not hard to turn being scared into being scared and challenged. So I set off.

The road follows a river valley.

Of course there’s lots of Kasbah’s, lived in,

and eroded.

I climb up into the snow zone. The sunshine is hidden in the white clouds swirling around the mountain peaks.

Looking back as the road leaves the valley.

Such expansive vistas! It’s Saturday, not a lot of traffic. I ride in the middle of my lane.

At 7,400 feet. I started at 4,200 feet. There are a lot of climbs and descents.

A frozen waterfall. It is quite cold up here.

Did I mention switchbacks?

But I made it 95 KM to Taddert. I am shivering cold when I arrive, but my shirt is still wet with sweat. I get my gear into my room, and go down and order a hot tea, just to wrap my hands around the pot and stop the shivering.

Here is the view of my town looking up the street.

Looking down the street. This is the biggest town en route and there is one hotel in it.

I’m lucky that the room is 80dh and the restaurant is fairly priced. The room is unheated of course. It is supposed to get to -3 Celsius tonight. I know what to do. Put on all your clothes, put the sleeping bag on the bed, and climb in. In half an hour I am warm all over.

It’s just under 100KM to Marrakech. A lot of that will be descent. That means it will be cold. When my legs get cold they get stiff making pedaling difficult. A bulge has developed in the back rim! I’ve had to loosen the back brake so much that it is almost ineffective.

Tomorrow, Marrakech! (fingers crossed)

Ait Ben Haddou has been used in many movies, including Laurence of Arabia, Jesus of Nazareth, The Jewel of the Nile, and the Kingdom of Heaven. It was named a UNESCO world heritage site in 1987.

Though it’s impossible to know how old individual buildings are, the Ksar has been known to have been here since before the eleventh century. Above the ksar is an agadir, or fortified granary. It’s walls encompass a few acres.

I am fed a wonderful breakfast at my hotel, The Nomad, and set off early to explore the ksar.

Approaching from the town.

Looking across the river.

At the most obvious entrance I am hassled for 10DH “entrance fee” I talk to the guys for 10 minutes, explaining that I know there is no entrance fee. Eventually I pay it and walk in. Sometimes it’s not worth the hassle.

The ksar is made of piste, which is wet clay gathered from the river bank and put into a moving mold. Floors are created with logs and bamboo covered with more piste.

Detail

Looking up at a wooden door hinge.

A pair of old shoes.

Detail of a section showing Kasbah lifestyle.

Door lock and key. See the matching holes? Ingenious!

Wool combing.

A family home entrance.

The tops of the piste walls are protected with this cap. It is a layer of overhanging bamboo topped with more piste. The top layer is sacrificial.

Note the wood hinges and knob.

Looking at the top. We’ll be walking on that top roof soon.

Decoration

View

The mysterious doors. What lies behind? The ksar was a treat to explore. There were only a handful of tourists.

The ceiling of a tower.

View ledge.

The oasis.

Detail. You never know what you are going to see when you turn a corner. A collapsed roof and ruin or a beautiful room.

View.

The top roof. Remember, it is 5? stories high, made of bamboo and clay, filled with holes, and often spongy. Don’t go here if you are overweight and wearing heels!

The view from the agadir.

My lunch, wow! The wife prepares the meals and has gone to culinary school. She is very pleasant. After this lunch I happily pay extra for meals here.

I love getting up in the morning and riding my bike down the road past things I’ve never seen towards places I’ve never been. Knowing this will end makes my time here more enjoyable. Like my son Drew said when looking at the leaning tower of Pisa: “Knowing that it will fall someday makes it so much more poignant.”

Emily Dickenson writes:

That it will never come again

Is what makes life so sweet.

Believing what we don’t believe

Does not exhilarate.

That if it be, it be at best

An ablative estate –

This instigates an appetite

Precisely opposite.

……………….

The oasis around Skoura boasts some nice homes.

I’m especially enjoying the wide open vistas of the high desert.

The city of Ouarzezate appears as I top a crest.

This is Aït Benhaddou, now a world heritage site, formerly a stop in the camel caravan route between the Sahara and Marrakesh.

The Atlas mountains backdrop Aït Benhaddou. A few families still live in the Ksar.

The view from the roof of my hotel. Here I’ll rest and explore Aït Benhaddou tomorrow.

I didn’t take any pictures today.

I leave the Dades Gorge area and Wojtek this morning. He wants to spend a few days relaxing there, I want to move on.

The cycling is fast and flat through mud villages and open desert for the first 50km or so, then the wind shifts and I fight a headwind for the last 35km.

Along the way I see a roadside restaurant and stop for lunch. There is a western couple taking tea, so I, desperate for some genuine english language, strike up a conversation and invite myself to their table.

I think the conversation is going well though the woman hasn’t said anything. She keeps staring at me, but averts her eyes when I look directly at her, as if unwilling to humanize the object of her repulsed fascination. I know I’m dirty and my clothes smell. And maybe I am talking a little too fast, a little too needily, OK.

Eventually my omelet is served. The cook/waiter places the egg and bread down with a flourish, looks at me for approval, then frowns. He leans over and wipes a bugger dangling from my nose. I feel his rough finger getting it all. He wipes it on his pants with a warm paternal smile, gives a small glad to be of service nod, and retreats.

The woman sees this as her opportunity and strikes: “You really are two very different colors. The top half of your head is white and the half below your eyes is red. You look like a dirty striped ball!”

Her boyfriend apprehensively moves his eyes from her to me.

I apologize for being so difficult to look at. I lament that my awful appearance has destined me to cycle this world all alone. I whisper that I am most grateful for their company. There is a pause. He grins. I launch hungrily into the omelette and the conversation. She decides that the human animal at the table is harmless and joins in.

Ummm, can someone please tell me what’s the customary tip for that service?

Wojtek and I met at a hotel on the 12th at Fatima’s hotel. She’s nice and I understand that diner and breakfast are included for 150DH. She asks me what I want for dinner and I say “crepes.” After I eat, she tries to charge me 50DH for the dinner. She tells me that dinner is not included, only breakfast. I tell her that if that’s the case I just ate breakfast and I refuse to pay. My mistake? I give her the benefit of the doubt. Here’s Fatima and I with her cat.

Wojtek is from Poland and is riding a Polish made recumbent and pulling a Polish made trailer. His rig has given him lots of breakdowns. It’s a pleasant change to cycle with someone, so I go slower than usual and move at Wojtek’s pace.

We are riding in the high desert between the two Atlas Mountain ranges. The few towns are mostly mud brick. But the cycling is beautiful, cruising along in the vast empty spaces on flat straight roads. We are gradually climbing, and soon are over a mile high.

In Tinurad we find a Casbah called “The Petite Nomad” and knock on the iron gate. Soon people pop out from neighboring houses, and someone calls the owner. We are the only guests tonight, and we negotiate the price down from 400Dh each to 100DH each. We are very pleased, such a lovely place with an educated and thoughtful young owner. Here is the inner patio.

Along the road. Washday.

On the 13th close to Bourmalne we find another bargain, the “Panorama,” and we are the only guests. This time we get a room and dinner and breakfast for 80dh each.

Interior of the Panorama Albergue:

View from the Panorama:

The reason there are so many hotels here is because of the Dades Gorge. Today I leave Wojtek resting at the hotel and cycle into the Gorge. The Gorge is used for agriculture everywhere it widens out enough to plant crops.

Crops and trees.

Agriculture:

Agriculture:

Most everything is made of mud brick. Uncared for, it erodes, and there are many eroded buildings.

Switchbacks on the Gorge.

Hotels along the Gorge.

Unusual rock formations:

Unusual rock formations:

I ride 35km into the Gorge and turn around and ride back. It is really more of a valley than a gorge. I am a little disappointed because it is not more dramatic. I am tired of looking at mud brick buildings, just like I got tired of looking at grey amd green in Ireland.

Traveling has become more like a job than an adventure. My blog feels flat to me. I am developing that jadedness that I have observed in people that have been traveling a long time. It really has to be amazing to get me excited now.

Traveling is certainly work, riding a bicycle more so. There are so many little struggles. I just returned from paying for tonight, and the hotel owner tried to charge me extra for the tea he served with dinner last night. “Tea is never included” he says. “Then you should have told me and not just served it” I reply. I refuse to pay, and he eventually gives in. No fluids with dinner tonight. Hardly a day goes by without a struggle like this.

It was not possible for me to foresee that traveling thus would feel routine.

I have read a dozen books now on this adventure and just finished David Copperfield. What a great heartwarming story. I was eager today to get back to the hotel so I could finish the book! My patterns are seeking a new balance.

Though the Sahara desert is enormous, the dunes cover only about 40sq kilometers. You can see them in the distance as I am approaching them.

Here is my guide, Idriss.

Approaching Merzouga with Camels.

Merzouga from the Oasis. The Oasis is essentially a large community gardening plot. It has a channel of water flowing through the middle of it that comes from the dunes. You divert the water for your crops as needed.

There are lots of date palms with annual crops planted amongst, good permaculture.

There are a handful of 4 star hotels catering to the upscale tourists. Here is the restaurant of one.

My ride. Ain’t she cute.

My guide. He is 21, a genuine Berber Nomad, herded goats till he was 12 then went to work in the tourism industry when the border with Algeria was closed. They used to leave a chunk open for the Nomads to pass, but it was abused by drug runners, so they closed the whole thing.

From the saddle it looks like you are riding an ostrich.

The dunes are incredibly beautiful.

Dune beauty. The Black mountains way in the background mark the border with Algeria.

Beautiful Dunes.

Beautiful Dunes.

Sitting on a tall sharp ridge. It is freezing cold and the wind is buffeting me. For a sense of scale, those brown rectangles to my left are the tents of the camps.

I am camped in a tent made of blankets. Next door are the Berbers.

Some of their homes look like children’s play houses.

My home away from home away from home. When I ask my guide where the bathroom is, he gestures towards the desert.

My guide cooked dinner for me too!

Tourist camp.

Camels waiting.

They make great faces. They’ll stop in their tracks and growl and grumble if they think they can’t make it up a hill.

So who’s the desert nomad?

Dune Beauty. The wind is always creating little sand zephyrs. They move like spirits over the dunes.

The sand shoes of the camel.

Merzouga.

Idriss showed me his kasbah. This is a walled city where a group of people live together. What struck me most was the school. This is it. The young 14? year old girl is the teacher. The darling girl on the far right with the purple hands was so eager to learn.